


Lie Down and Die

by Frisk15



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Danny, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt, Hurt Steve, Not Really Character Death, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frisk15/pseuds/Frisk15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something from Danny Williams' past has come slouching towards Honolulu. And now it threatens to rob him of one of the things he holds most dearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Danny Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This short piece was prompted by a line I wrote in A Breath-defying Situation. It got stuck in my head, and before I knew it the muse stole it and ran away with it. Initially I didn't know what to do with it, as it seemed pretty final. 
> 
> However, I've been asked to develop it further, so that's what I'll do. And no, it's not a death fic. Just couldn't do it.  
> The first chapter is pretty intense, so be warned.

* * *

PREFACE

* * *

The old, battered pickup truck pulls up near a deserted part of the beach. Three men get out, unnoticed in the darkness of the early morning. One of them pulls back a piece of tarpaulin, then they drag out a body. After pulling it halfway towards the water's edge, the men unceremoniously dump their cargo in the sand.

Removing a piece of paper from his pocket, the oldest of the three opens it, then places it on the body's chest. With one swift move he rams a knife through the paper into the chest. Slowly, very slowly, blood begins to seep into the paper, but the words written with a thick, black marker remain legible.

**FOR YOU, DANNY BOY !**

* * *

_You, Steven McGarrett, you are so incredibly stubborn, you even refuse to lie down and die. Which, if I may remind you, you found necessary to prove on so many occasions, I don't even want to try and count them._

The memory had caused a little smile to play around his lips. Danny, always on his case about his character flaws, always harassing him about how inhuman he is; harassing him about his so-called super ninja SEAL strength.

He had frowned then, knew how sorely disappointed Danny would be, how _mad_ Danny would be when he found out that this time his strength hadn't been enough to save him.

If he ever found out. If they ever found him.

It was embarrassing to realize that eventually they'd probably discover he'd been taken in his sleep, in his own bed, in his own house. That all he had been able to do was knock over the glass of water on the night stand.

Maybe they'd find evidence of the needle incapacitating him; they might even find traces of the injected substance that had raced through his system with such speed that he could barely lift himself up from his bed before darkness swallowed him whole.

But they'd most likely never know how he woke up, where he woke up. Dressed in just the loose cotton pajama pants he'd slept in, shivering on a cold, hard concrete floor, the aftereffects of the drug causing wave after wave of nausea.

There had been no respite, no chance to wrap his mind around the situation, no possibility to get his bearings or puzzle out some strategy. The moment they found out he was awake, they had come for him, dragged him along despite the fact he started vomiting the minute he was pulled to his feet.

He was strung up like a punching bag, hands and feet stretched and chained to ceiling and floor, so he couldn't move out of the way, couldn't evade a single punch. The beatings had been brutal, methodical, and above all, silent. His hoarse screams of _Why?_ and _What the fuck do you want from me?!_ unanswered, ignored.

And every time he tried lunging at one of his abusers, whenever they came for him, another one of them would halt his effort by using something resembling a cattle prod, delivering a jolt of electricity so powerful that it turned his muscles to jelly, stopped his breath.

On one occasion it even stopped his heart, after he had stubbornly refused to back down and they had kept delivering the current to his body time and time again. He came back to reality with one of his abusers sitting on top of him, fanatically compressing his chest, causing at least one more rib to fracture.

After that, they had left him alone for a while, but had come for him again soon afterwards. He had realized then that they hadn't wanted to prevent his death, just merely wanted to draw out the process of dying for as long as possible, making him suffer as much as they could.

They had used leather gloves for his upper body, his face, both now slicked with blood. For his arms and legs they had reverted to baseball bats, expertly aiming at his joints, his bones. His muscles had offered some protection from the abuse, shielded the bones from impact, but on too many occasions he had felt something give way.

Danny was right, in as far as this not being the first time he was in this position; he'd been there more times than he actually cared to remember. However, never had it been this methodical, this anonymous, or this constant.

Time was difficult to keep track of, but the intervals between the beatings never lasted more than a few hours, if that; a short time in which to try and collect himself, make an inventory of which new injuries to add to the list. And through it all, there had been no answers, no food, and no water.

* * *

So he had finally ended up at that last stage of the process.

He'd known when he had gone into shock, not only due to the beatings but also the result of blood loss and lack of fluid intake. His body no longer produced any sweat, any urine; his breathing was rapid and shallow, and he continued to slip in and out of consciousness until he was barely aware of things. One of his last coherent thoughts was an apology to Danny, for letting him down, for not being able to meet his expectations.

The next two beatings hardly drew a response, except for the breath huffing out of him whenever a punch landed on his stomach, or a soft moan when a fist landed in his side, the bat struck another limb.

When they came for him that final time, he hardly registered being dragged along, being hoisted up with the chains. The beatings no longer elicited any response from him, except a barely noticeable shiver running down his body every time a fist impacted, every time a baseball bat struck.

After much less time then usual, his abusers stopped. The voices of the three men conferring with each other just barely reached his subconsciousness as a vague, monotonous murmur. He didn't hear the phone conversation, didn't register the man speaking a few short words.

Slipping further down beyond oblivion, suspended unmoving from the ceiling, he wasn't aware of one of the men going towards the table along the wall, picking up a heavy baseball bat.

He never sensed the man walking up to stand behind him; the powerful blow delivered to the back of his head caused a soft sigh to escape his mouth as his body suddenly went rigid for a moment, a prolonged shudder running through his bloodied frame.

When he relaxed and remained completely still, the men released the chains, causing his body to slump to the ground. He hadn't felt being dragged out of the room, out of the house and then being dumped into the back of a truck. He hadn't felt anything anymore.

He had proven Detective Daniel Williams, formerly of New Jersey, wrong.

This time, all he could do was lie down and die.


	2. Bad Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE - It took me a few days to write myself out of the finality of that first chapter and into a plot which wouldn't turn this into a death fic, but I think I've managed. This second chapter is fairly short, but it's a beginning. Hope y'all approve ;-)

* * *

"Danny, this just got delivered. Kid said he was paid twenty bucks by some guy to bring it straight to you." Chin holds out an envelop. When Danny accepts it, he sees his name written on the envelop in bold, black letters. _Detective Daniel Williams._

Sighing, he goes into his office. Things always seem to gear up a notch whenever Steve is off on one of his SEAL training weekends. They had gone for beers on Thursday evening, Steve heading out early Friday morning. "Hold down the fort for me, Danno" Steve had winked.

When he failed to show up at HQ this Monday morning Danny had frowned, then sighed; it was unusual, but sometimes his partner overshot his return to Five-0 by one or even several days. And by now Danny had learned to stop asking questions whenever that happened.

He had come to intensely hate the term _classified._ His being upset would be sympathized with, Steve doing his best to make it up to him for being worried; an explanation, however, would never be forthcoming. "Sorry, Danny. You know I can't tell you" would be the shrugged, murmured response.

The envelop contains a home-made DVD with the words _Danny Boy_ written on its plastic cover. Frowning, he turns it over in his hands, wondering what it contains. He flips open the cover, takes out the disc and inserts it into the DVD drive of his computer. Grabbing his coffee, he sits back and watches as the disk automatically starts playing.

The haunting music and words of Weatherly's _Danny Boy_ fill the office, and Danny sips his coffee as he watches what seems like a funeral procession slowly moving through a street. A New Jersey street, a street he knows. A scene he has been part of too many times, as yet another one of his colleagues would become a victim of their ongoing war against crime.

Next, the screen turns black.

Danny has just taken another sip of coffee when an image fills the screen; an image which causes him to choke on the warm liquid, spraying it across his desk. His breath catches in his chest, and his eyes grow wide with horror as more scenes unfold. He stares, unaware of the fact that he has dropped his coffee mug, unaware of the fact that he has slowly risen from his seat, his hands balled into fists.

Shaking, he reaches over and fast forwards the DVD, hits *play* again, then moans due to what he sees, what he hears. He physically flinches every time a fist hits flesh, every time a bat scores a hit on an arm or leg. Tears, hot from rage and anguish, are now coursing down his face, his eyes glued to the atrocities being imprinted on his retinas.

Again, he fast forwards, and what he sees next causes his knees to go weak, causes his gut to clench up so tight it brings physical anguish. As he sees the man position himself behind the unmoving body, sees him swing back to bring the bat forward full force against the head of the man hanging from the ceiling, he screams.

"No! Oh Jesus Christ, _Steve_ ... no!"

* * *

The sky is barely lighting up when a group of young people pours out of a battered old bus which has their surfboards strapped to its roof. They start removing the boards, eager to catch some relaxed early morning waves before the small beach is invaded by tourists and the more fanatic wave warrior.

One of the girls glances to her left, then draws her boyfriend's attention to something she sees. "Hey Mickey? There's some dude out there sleeping on the sand. Probably had one too many beers last night." She giggles.

The young man looks over, surprised there's somebody out there. He puts down his board, then starts walking over to the still form in the sand. "Hey mister? Better wake up before people start showing up." Then he frowns; something looks off to him, is seriously out of whack.

When he has covered half the distance, he feels his breath catch in his throat. The man is wearing pajama pants, darkly stained, soiled and ragged. He can see his upper body is bare, covered in blood, his face beaten into an unrecognizable pulp. Also, there seems to be something sticking out of his chest.

Turning back to the group, he yells out: "Guys, I think we have a dead body here." His friends come running over, and within minutes they've formed a half circle around the still form in the sand. They stare down in shock, taking in the blood, the swollen features, the myriad of bruises.

One of the young men points at the paper on the chest. "That's ... that's just _horrocious_ , man! Like stapling an envelop to a carrier pigeon." One of the girls turns around and starts vomiting in the sand, the sight just too gruesome for her.

"Hey Kekipi, take a picture of that paper and knife man, then call 911." The young man takes several pictures, then dials the emergency number. "Yeah, hi. We want to report a body. It's at the beach by Kawela Bay, behind Kakipi Place. I made pix so I can send you those if you want." He listens to the voice on the other side. "Yeah, we think it's a murder."

As the young man talks on the phone, one of the girls bends down over the body. "Hey Jules, don't touch him, OK? Cops wouldn't like that." She ignores him, staring at the man's chest, putting her ear close to the torn lips. Then she places a cautious finger underneath the man's jaw. When she looks up, her eyes are wide with both shock and amazement.

"He's not dead, guys!"

Two squad cars from Kahuku Police station are the first responders to the disturbing phone call made by the young surfers. What they find on the beach initially leaves them speechless, stunned by the sheer brutality of it all.

Then an elderly officer manages to gather his wits about him. He runs to the car, puts in a request for an emergency air medevac and then returns with a bag valve mask. He places it on the man's face, praying he will be able to keep him alive until the helicopter arrives.

* * *

Danny's desperate scream has brought the rest of the team running into his office. " _Jesus_ , Danny, what's wrong?!" Lou reaches him first, taking in the tears, the mouth slack with shock. When he follows Danny's stare, his mind initially refuses to process what he sees.

Chin and Kono stand behind them, frozen, looking at the paused image on screen "Steve ..." mumbles Chin. "How much ... how long is that DVD?" Danny turns around, still gasping from the horror he's seen, trying to find enough air to speak.

"Too long."

* * *

The helicopter is still hovering above the beach when two paramedics jump out, running towards the small group of people leaning over the body, protecting it from the sand up-drafted by the chopper's rotors. It takes them just seconds to decide this will be a 'scoop and run'; stabilizing the patient and then get him to hospital as fast as possible.

A quick check finds a thready pulse, and they immediately proceed to check his airway. The man's mouth is half open, his lips blue, his barely audible breathing rasping. One of the paramedics uses the jaw-thrust maneuver to further open his airway. The swelling in the face, distorting his features, as well as the massive bruising on his body warn them of potential spinal and head trauma.

One of the paramedics holds his head immobile as the other suctions out fluid and what appears to be vomit, then intubates him to secure an airway, attaching a bag valve mask. One of the HPD officers on scene starts using the bag valve mask to assist the man with his breathing while the paramedics work together to put a cervical collar around the man's neck.

Then the piece of paper is torn away from around the hilt of the knife, after which rolled up Vaseline gauze is packed around the hilt of the knife in order to stabilize it, as well as seal off the chest wound. Further examination of the man confirms the suspicion of a pneumothorax; a quick needle decompression is executed to relieve the air build-up in his chest, compromising his breathing.

With the help of the HPD officers, they place a scoop stretcher underneath the man, fixate his head using a head immobilizer, then strap the man down. Paramedics and HPD officers then rush him to the chopper, which meanwhile has set down. In the chopper, the paramedics set up an IV in each arm, administering fluids, compensating for the obvious blood loss.

As the helicopter lifts off, the HPD officers stare after it.

"Did you notice the bruising on that guy, when they cleaned his chest?" an older cop asks his colleague. "Yeah, somebody went to town on him." The older cop frowns. "Not just that; some of those bruises were older than the others. They didn't just go to town on him; they had a party which lasted several days I think."

They watch the helicopter fly towards Queens Medical.

* * *

Chin has taken the DVD from Danny's computer, then replays it on one of the larger screens.

The increased size of the images seems to exponentially increase the displayed horror, the _terror_ of it all. What really clenches their guts, what totally numbs them are Steve's ongoing cries of _Why?!_ , and the fact that he apparently died not knowing, never receiving an answer.

It has rocked them to the core, seeing that last footage. The calm attitude of the man walking up behind their boss, hanging motionless from the chains; the controlled manner in which he swings the bat, aiming for the back of the head. Delivering a death blow.

The shuddering of Steve's body, then ... stillness.

Both the name on the envelop and the DVD cover have told them Danny is directly involved, told them that Steve's death most likely is nothing more or less than some form of revenge, meant to make Danny suffer. So far it has been completely successful.

Danny has been reduced to a pitiful mass of human misery, filled with grief, with anguish. Filled with _guilt._ He is hunched over on the couch in his office, slowly rocking to and fro, unaware of Kono's ministrations, her attempts to console him despite tears coursing down her own face. They have not been able to get through to him, locked as he is in his own world of pain.

The way the video has been shot does not give them any clues as to the location. All they see is an empty room, possibly a basement, maybe part of some factory. The concrete walls are bare, save one lone table placed against one of them, on it the instruments of Steve's torture.

Metal rings attached in the center of the ceiling and integrated in the concrete floor directly beneath secure the chains holding their friend, stretched out like a leather hide in the process of curing. The faces of the three men meeting out the horrific punishment are carefully hidden behind black balaclavas, securing their anonymity.

It is nearly impossible for them to watch the progression of the beatings, the deterioration of the man undergoing them; taking days ...

Chin has made a call to San Diego, using every shred of self control to maneuver his way from one uncommunicative Navy representative to the next. Yes, he has the need to know. No, he will not wait until somebody gets back to him.

In the end, the threat of the Governor personally placing a call to the WARCOM's Rear Admiral himself gets him the answer he's looking for. And does not want.

His hands shaking, Chin's eyes are dazed when he puts down the phone, then stares at Lou. "He never arrived at Coronado." Lou remains silent for a moment, his own face mirroring the shock still present on Chin's face. "So, this" he says softly, gesturing at the screen, "most likely started on Friday, maybe even Thursday night."

Chin nods, clenching his jaws while he stares down at the PC table, not daring to look up lest he loses his composure. "We should go to Steve's house, see if there's any evidence he was taken there." Lou keeps staring at the screen, unable to tear away his eyes from the broken, bloodied body. Then he sighs, nodding.

"Yeah, we should. Let's find these motherfuckers. Let's find Steve." His voice carries such a cold undertone that Chin's head whips up, staring at him. Lou's face is contorted with a mixture of rage, grief and determination. Chin finds those emotions resonating within him, feels the rage overpowering his normal self control. He pushes himself away from the large screen.

"Let's go."

* * *

The trauma team at Queen's Medical is stunned and horrified by the extent of the injuries of the John Doe just flown in from the North Shore. More specifically, by the manner in which he has sustained them. They glance at each other, one word foremost in their minds. _Torture._

The victim's body is one mass of bruises, some hours or even days older than the others. Not one piece of skin has retained its normal hue. After they've stabilized him sufficiently, they put him through the CAT-scanner. As the images appear, talking within the operator's cubicle ceases.

Finally, one of the doctors lets out a shocked breath. "It's like a damn jigsaw puzzle!"

They detect countless fractures; non-displaced, displaced, as well as hairline fractures in his skull, vertebrae, upper and lower arms and upper and lower legs. Furthermore they see both a dislocated elbow and kneecap.

What concerns them the most, though, is the subdural hematoma at the back of the head. Sighing, they remove the man from the scanner, then start prepping him for surgery. All of them know they will be in the OR for hours, and none of them has high hopes that the man will survive the procedures necessary to keep him alive.

* * *

 


	3. Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about finding clues. But what if there aren't any?

* * *

 

"People who don't ask questions remain clueless throughout their lives."

\- Neil deGrasse Tyson -

 

* * *

It's exactly as one of Steve's last coherent thoughts predicted; all they find at Steve's house, the only thing seemingly out of order in the otherwise neat confines of the McGarrett home is a glass lying on the ground next to the bed. The small puddle of water has long since dried up.

There is not a single scrap of evidence, absolutely _nothing_ to clue them in to what happened.

No tell-tale signs of a fight, of a struggle. The rumpled sheet on the bed only serves to tell them that Steve has slept there, but says nothing about which night that may have been. Hell, the glass might have even been knocked off during one of Steve's numerous and recurring nightmares.

It's as if Steve has simply gone up in smoke.

But they know he hasn't, have seen the evidence of the video. Have seen the pain and torture and confusion their boss and friend has had to endure before ... well, before he died. That's the only thing they're sure of, the only conclusion they have been able to draw so far.

And it breaks their hearts.

* * *

"How's our John Doe doing?" The doctor looks down at the status chart, then looks at the still figure in the bed. "Holding his own, doctor" the nurse answers. "But no change." The doctor absently nods, continues to scan the chart.

The readings from the ICP sensor are steady, but the pressure inside the man´s head is still far too high, bordering on dangerous. He will decide whether or not to perform a decompressive craniectomy soon, today even, in order to prevent a potential midline shift in the man´s brain, further diminishing his chance of a positive outcome.

Taking his eyes off the chart, the doctor looks at his patient; he sighs. Never, in his entire career, has he seen this level of trauma, this amount of _damage_ inflicted on a human being on purpose. Because there´s no doubt in his mind that this is the case. Somebody, or more accurately, several somebodies, have taken their time to torture this man.

He remembers the unusual quiet in the OR as the team of trauma surgeons worked rapidly on the man. They had all quickly understood the cause of the injuries, and they had been shocked into silence. None of them could wrap their mind around the viciousness of it all.

The impressions and deep wounds on both wrists and ankles testified to the fact that the man had been hung from chains, the links eating into his flesh. On the wrists they had seen the white of the underlying bones in some places as they debrided the wounds, then carefully sutured the layers of tissue where possible.

Not a single piece of skin was unmarked, the deep bruises covering the man from neck to toes, some of them already turning to hues which indicated they were several days old. His broken bones told the same story; the skull fracture, broken vertebra and fractured humerus of his left arm were fresh; yet others were hours or even days older. The team had stabilized and repaired the fractures needing attention, while leaving others to the healing power of time and rest.

His head trauma remained the most worrisome. The bleeding and pressure inside his head, presumably caused by whatever had caused the broken neck and fractured skull, could cause potentially fatal complications.

The doctor turns to the nurse again."Have they reported him to the police already? Found out who he is?" The woman cocks her head. "Yes and no. There's a problem; his face is unrecognizable due to the swelling, and we can't fingerprint him." He lifts an eyebrow. "Can't fingerprint him? Why not? I know he has some broken fingers, but his hands are not that badly swollen, are they?"

"No, that's not the problem" the nurse answers. She walks towards the bed, then gently picks up the limp hand with an IV attached to it. " _This_ is the problem." The doctor walks over, bending down to take a closer look. Shocked, he jerks back upright.

"Bastards! They sanded them off!"

* * *

They have taken Danny home, then called a doctor. He is so distressed, so utterly shocked by the video that he seems to have completely withdrawn into himself. They cannot reach him. After the explanation that Danny has just seen his best friend being beaten to death on an anonymous video, the doctor has injected him with a heavy sedative. With Kono's help he's been put to bed, and Kono has agreed on staying, watching over him.

Lou and Chin have gone back to Five-0 HQ, doing their best to examine the video for any potential clues, swallowing back their grief, their _anger_ at the images. The footage of Steve's torture provides the same amount of information as his house; none.

Whoever did this has planned it well.

* * *

The stretch of beach at Kahela Bay has been secured as a crime scene, and two cops from Kahuku station are meticulously scanning the sand, trying to find evidence. They find some foot prints, but they're hard to distinguish from the many prints already crossing them, made by both the young surfers who discovered the body as well as the cops and paramedics.

It's obvious the man hasn't moved since being placed there, since having been dumped like garbage, and the imprint left by the body does not throw up anything new. Besides the small, dark patch where blood from the man's head has seeped into the sand, no clues are discovered as to who may have put the man there.

Neither one of the cops spot the torn piece of paper, words now almost complete obliterated by both the blood stain and the spray of the surf, as it is carried out by the tide.

* * *

Lou rubs his face, frowning in frustration. If asked to describe his emotions, he'd have a hard time. It's a mixture of anger, grief, despair, frustration and disbelief. He finds it slightly easier to watch the footage than Chin, not because he doesn't care for Steve, or has joined the team at a later date and therefor is less involved.

His detachment comes from years of watching the horrible atrocities that human beings seem to be able to inflict on each other. Chicago was not just, as Frank Sinatra sang, the town to "lose your blues"; it was a place where you could just as easily lose your life. Lou had seen the evidence too many times, splayed out across a medical examiner's table.

There's nothing to go on in the footage. No tell-tale scars or tattoos on the abusers, no signs or words pointing in a certain direction, nothing recognizable in any of the scenes. Just the beatings, the grunts, sometimes the screams of pain. They'd filtered out the sound of the man dialing the number on the cell phone, had tried tracing it.

"A burner, so nothing we can use" Chin had said eventually, disgusted.

The conversation itself had been muted, short, the audible parts offering nothing more than a softly spoken "yes" and "no" and "understood". The baseball bats they'd used were common, sold in several stores across Oahu. And they doubted that they had been bought specifically, looking used and well worn.

Lou suddenly looks up, then looks at Chin. "We can't ask Danny anything about his connection to this, right?" Chin lets out a frustrated breath. "I doubt whether he'd know what day it is today. This has, I don't know ... I've never seen him like this, and he's seen his share of horrors." Chin stares at Lou, sees he has an idea. "What are you getting at?"

The big man stares at the screen, his mind in overdrive. "How about we start digging into the first part of the video?" A surprised look appears on Chin's face. "The funeral?" Lou nods. "Why?" The answer is logical, and Chin almost slaps himself for overlooking the obvious.

"Because somebody who puts this much effort into a plan, covers this many details, won't pick a random funeral."

* * *

Danny is stuck, hopelessly caught in an intangible but oh-so constricting web of guilt, self-hate and despair. The sedative the doctor has given him only serves to further push him into its confines. He vaguely notices his team mates trying to reach him, trying to get through the fog surrounding him, but he wards them off. Shuts out their voices.

He knows it's the team's instinctive reaction to rally and help carry whatever weight one of them is shouldering, but in this case he simply won't, _can't_ allow that. This is his fault. This is his burden.

The video keeps playing in his mind, stuck in a sinister loop, slow-motioning agonizing frame by heartbreaking frame. Each time it restarts, each time it reaches the end for that final blow, another piece of him dies with Steve.

_Steve._

Dead because of him. Tortured because of something he did, something from his past. That's what he has been able to puzzle together in the rare lucid moments he has, his mind working in a strange, detached manner. Being a detective doesn't even stop while being disconnected from the real world.

He has heard Kono's soothing words, her desperate pleas for a reaction; has been aware of Lou and Chin coming over for a short period of time, felt their hands on his shoulders, telling him that it's not his fault, reminding him that they got his back.

But he refuses to accept their words. There is no way he can ever face them on equal ground again, no possible manner in which he can ever consider himself part of that team once more. He is the one that killed their boss, their friend.

This is a burden Daniel Williams will need to carry alone.

* * *

Chin and Lou have been going over the funeral part of the video several times, but nothing jumps out at them. They have gone over to Danny's place earlier, taking a break, checking on both Kono and Danny. "How is he doing?" Chin had stood staring down at his team mate, curled up in an almost fetal position on his bed. "He doesn't react to anything" Kono had sighed, leaning against the wall. "We'll need to inform Rachel. Grace can't see him like this."

Chin had nodded. "We'll also have to tell them about Steve." Kono's tears had started flowing again, and she had buried her face against her cousin's strong chest. The whole situation was impacting them on so many levels, had torn all of their lives apart in so many agonizing ways, it was hard to deal with the fall-out.

Lou had walked over to the bed, placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Hey, Jersey. I know you got some awesome wide shoulders there, but don't think for one minute you have to do this by yourself. We got your back, you know." But Kono was right. There was no reaction from Danny. None at all.

So they had asked Kono if she wanted one of them to relieve her, and when she had tearfully but stubbornly declined, the two men had decided to go back to HQ.

Following Lou's suggestion, they now concentrate on the first few minutes of the video. "I'm going to send this to the New Jersey PD, see if they can find out whose funeral this is." Chin runs a weary hand over his face, then looks at Lou, who nods. "Good thinking." Chin quickly starts working on the PC, editing the footage, then creates a lossless compression of the file, small enough to send it to the NJPD. Sighing, he hits a button. "Done. Now we need to keep our fingers crossed."

Lou nods. "Let's take another look at that thing, maybe we overlooked something." They run the funeral sequence again, this time frame by frame, scrutinizing the images. Just as Chin calls up a new frame, Lou exclaims: "Holy shit! Chin, put that last frame back on." Chin scrolls the footage back, frowning.

Lou stares, then points. "There. Zoom in, will you?" Chin zooms in on the frame, looking at the spot his team mate just pointed out. His mouth drops open. "That's ... that's _Danny_!" Both men are staring at the frozen image, trying to process what they see.

It's a much younger Danny Williams, smartly dressed in uniform, his mouth set in a tight, grim line. He is flanked by two other officers on his left, and another one on his right. They all stare ahead, their eyes on the casket set on top of a horse-drawn carriage several rows in front of them.

"So this really _is_ about Danny" mumbles Chin.

* * *

The John Doe report Queen's Medical has filed with the HPD only contains minimal details; the place where he was found, the medical status of the patient, as well as an estimated age. Not even the race is certain, as the swelling and bruising are still so severe that nothing can be determined for sure. The report is filed away, ready to be amended as soon as Queen's is able to provide more information. For now though, HPD really can't do anything with it, doesn't consider it a case. There just isn't enough to go on.

The Governor meanwhile has decided to enter Steve's details into NamUs, the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System. The data within the system concerns persons who are deceased, no longer alive. Although Five-0 is by no means ready to stop searching, and both the team and the Governor still harbor a secret, unspoken hope that Steve will perform one of his magic tricks and turn up breathing, still alive, the harsh reality of the video proclaims a different truth.

And Steve's data will at least provide a chance that somewhere, a medical examiner or coroner will be able to match the data to an unidentified body. As long as Steve has not been buried somewhere in an unmarked grave, or worse, disposed of in a manner which leaves no evidence whatsoever, they hope they can at least bury him with honor, give him their last respects.

Apologize for having failed him so miserably.

* * *

The sound of the phone creates hollow echoes in the sparsely furnished apartment, as do the footsteps when a man dressed in sweats and t-shirt walks over to pick it up. He looks at the display, then presses a button without saying a word, listening.

"We might ... I mean, there's a problem."

The man continues to be silent, waiting for the voice at the other end to continue. An observant eye might have noticed the slight tensing of his muscles, the rigidity coming over his body.

"Seems our man was found by a group of young kids out to do some early surfing. They, ehm, they called the cops." There's a pause before the voice hesitantly continues. "And then they called a chopper. He was medevaced."

Still the man doesn't speak, but his jaw is clenching and unclenching in a steady rhythm as he listens to the words coming to him from across the ocean.

"He ... he isn't dead, we think. Still alive. Somehow."

Another long, drawn out silence is met with a nervous cough at the other end. Finally, the man speaks.

"Solve the problem."

Then he disconnects.


	4. Guilty 'till proven innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt is a horrible bedfellow ...

* * *

"Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt."

\- Plautus -

* * *

"The funeral was for Jacob Miller of Maplewood, New Jersey." Chin looks at the information he's finally received from the Jersey PD. "He was a Newark beat cop, apparently. And Danny's first partner." Lou comes to stand beside him, looks at the screen. "His partner? No wonder he looks grim."

Chin is quiet for a moment, frowning, scanning the rest of the information. "Actually, I think there might be another reason." Lou raises his eyebrows. "And that is?" Chin looks up at the man standing next to him, a bemused look on his face. "The fact that Internal Affairs launched an investigation into Danny's responsibility for Miller's death."

Lou frowns. "Why?" Chin shakes his head, reading through the document. "There's not a lot of information here, but it says Miller went to check out a 10-32, and that Danny then failed to respond to Miller's 10-78 call." He looks up at Lou. "It doesn't make sense; why would Miller face an armed man alone? And the Danny I know would _never_ fail to respond if his partner was in danger!"

Lowering his head, Lou thinks for a moment, then looks up. "Any information on the results of that IA inquiry?" Chin quickly reads the rest of the document, then looks up, a pained expression on his face. "Inconclusive. It literally states there was 'insufficient evidence' to prove Danny's guilt."

"Insufficient ... _Jesus_!" Lou's voice almost sounds like a growl. "That means they still _thought_ he was guilty, and knowing IA they were only too happy to spread the word. And now somebody out there has grabbed Danny's new partner, has ... has _killed_ Steve because they want to make him pay for Miller."

He looks up at Chin, fury written all over his face. "We need to get to the bottom of this, Chin. Find out if Danny was guilty, find out who took Steve. What's more: find out why it took them so long to get back at Danny." Chin nods, getting out his cell phone.

"I'm calling Kono. We need to talk to Danny."

* * *

The John Doe found on the beach several days ago isn't just hanging on to life; he's actively fighting, be it on a subconscious level. That much is obvious to the medical staff. Monitored 24/7, he is responding to the treatment with _mannitol_ , carefully and selectively administered by injection. It has not only prevented his intracranial pressure from going through the roof, it has actually lowered it.

On the second and third day, the swelling from the horrific beating he received actually got worse, and he is now additionally monitored to catch the early signs of compart syndrome, a complication which can result from the deep bruising in his body and cause muscle and nerve damage.

It is also increasingly obvious that he has, indeed, been tortured over the course of several days. Whereas some of the injuries are recent, others are already in the early stages of healing.

The morning of the fourth day since he was found, actually the seventh day since he has been taken from his home, a nurse is in the process of giving him a wash-down when the hand holding a washcloth stops just above his right shoulder. The woman hunkers down next to the bed, peering at the shoulder, then quickly walks out of the ICU cubicle.

Several minutes later, she returns with a male nurse. He bends over the shoulder, frowns, then looks up at his female colleague in surprise. "You're right, that _is_ a tattoo!" Underneath the myriad of colors, the newer bruising overlaying already fading ones, straight lines, _figures_ are becoming vaguely visible; what seems to be part of a safety pin, the lower half of an eye.

"Go get that camera from the nursing station; we need to send this to HPD."

* * *

Three days have passed; three whole days in which Danny has sunk into an emotional abyss so deep, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to climb out again; doesn't even know if he ever _wants_ to climb out. Kono is there day and night, looking after him, talking to him; trying to draw him out. He knows she is worried sick, is also there on behalf of the others in the team, all of them concerned for him.

Danny keeps ignoring her.

He ignores her when she talks to him in a soft voice; he ignores her when she screams at him to _react damn it!_ ; he even ignores her when she cries, although the tears rip his guts and heart to shreds.

Danny has detached himself, completely, emotionally, from the one thing which has safeguarded his sanity these past few years, the one thing which has enabled him to go through each day, to breath in and out, to be able to be there and _stay_ there for Grace.

The team, his newfound family. His Five-0 _ohana_.

They never knew how close he had been to ending it all in the beginning, even after having traveled all the way from Jersey to Hawaii to be with Grace. How the divorce, and then Rachel's near-sadistic manipulation of his visitation rights had nearly pushed him over the edge he was already teetering on. How his tiny, dingy apartment only served to push him further into depression.

Except a certain ex-SEAL.

Steve had caught on to the desperation behind his outward facade of bravado, the anguish hiding behind his ongoing sarcastic remarks; the grief behind the humor. Steve, a man troubled by demons infinitely darker than those haunting Danny, had saved him from himself.

So when the video had started playing, when Danny had seen those horrendous images, all he could think was how he had been unable to save Steve. Had failed to save his partner.

_Again!_

Because that strangely detached mind of his never stopped analyzing the video, despite the fact that he is deeply depressed. On the third day there had been a *click* in his mind as he realized that the first part, the funeral, was familiar to him. _Too_ familiar.

It was Jake's funeral.

And at that moment he had known the _why_ of Steve's torture, had realized _who_ had wanted him to suffer so badly. And immediately realized as well that none of the other members of his Hawaiian family would be safe. The thought that anybody else, like Kono, or God forbid, _Grace_ would suffer because of him made his heart lurch in his chest.

When Kono announces she has to make a quick run to the store, Danny knows what he has to do. Rachel picks up after the fourth ring. "Daniel. To wha..."

He draws a deep breath, then starts talking quickly so she can't interrupt. "Rachel, even if you've never listened to me before, please, for the love of God do so now. Pack a small bag for you and Grace, go pick her up at school and then take the first flight to England. Don't ask, just _do it_ , Rachel."

It's quiet at the other side, then Rachel comes back to him. "OK, Daniel. I expect you'll explain it later." Danny rubs a hand over his face, then softly says: "Steve ... he was killed, Rachel; _murdered._ Because of me." His breath hitches. "And I'm afraid he'll come after Grace next." He hears her shocked intake of breath, speaks before she has a chance to say anything.

"Save it for later. Just _go_ , Rachel!"

* * *

The man is looking at the computer on the desk in the nursing station. The nurse has left the browser open, and he now stares at the pictures she had just finished uploading when she got called away to another patient. He recognizes the faint outlines of the shoulder tattoo, although it was much clearer when he first saw it.

A bemused look appears on his face, his mind trying to cope with the fact that, against all odds, and despite their very best efforts, the man is still alive. No ordinary person could live through the kind of beating they had given him, the kind of torture they had meted out. They were actually pretty good at what they did, and nobody had ever survived.

Until now.

It rankles him. He has a reputation to think of, and this Five-0 Commander is messing up his future business. From what he has been told, the man who gave the order wasn't too pleased about the whole situation. And if word starts spreading that they suck at what they do, well ... bad for business. So he has to remedy the situation.

Smirking, he starts pressing the delete button in rapid succession, causing the images to disappear one by one. It will buy him time, at least. Time he can use to carry out the final stipulations of the order. He looks at the name of the patient and the number of the ICU cubicle before closing the browser.

Walking out the nursing station, he bumps into a nurse. "Can I help you?" She frowns, not recognizing him. A slow, relaxed smile appears on his face, immediately answered by a small smile on the face of the woman staring at him. "That's OK, _nani_. I got what I came for."

She blushes as she watches him saunter away, then forgets about him as she goes about her business.

* * *

"He's gone, Chin!" Kono looks both furious and shocked when they arrive at Danny's apartment. Chin frowns. "What do you mean, Kono; gone as in _gone_?" He watches her nod. "He must have left right after I went do so some errands. I never thought ..." Chin places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Not your fault, cuz. You couldn't know what he was going to do."

Lou looks around the apartment, spotting the phone on the coffee table. "Well, whatever he has planned, he doesn't want us involved." He picks up the phone, then scrolls through the call log. "Seems the last person he called was Rachel." Without hesitating, he calls Rachel's number. It goes straight to voice mail.

Chin rubs his hands over his face, then takes a deep breath. "I don't like the look of this." He thinks for a minute. "This is a regular school day for Grace, right?"

Picking up on his thoughts, Lou scrolls through Danny's contacts. "I got the school's number right here." He calls, then speaks on the phone for a few minutes before hanging up. "Apparently Rachel picked up Grace about twenty minutes ago. Something about a family emergency."

"Right." Chin frowns. "OK, so we have somebody who is out to hurt Danny, Danny has gone God knows where, and now Rachel has taken Grace and left because of some emergency, right after Danny called her." Kono has an anxious look on her face. "So maybe Danny was worried that whoever got to Steve will go after Grace as well."

They are silent for a moment. "We better watch our six as well" Lou states matter of factly. Chin nods. "Yeah, I think you're right. Whoever is gunning for Danny won't stop here." He sighs. "OK guys. We better get back to HQ and start digging deeper. We need to find this guy, and we need to find out whether Rachel and Grace are OK."

What's more, they need to find _Danny_.

* * *

He walks into the apartment, then closes the door behind him, making sure each of the three locks is secured. Going over to the kitchen, he grabs a beer out of the fridge, then walks into the living room. Removing his shoulder holster, he carelessly drapes it over the back of a chair before sinking down on the couch. The beer feels deliciously cool as it runs down his throat.

He is just about to take a second sip when his phone starts shrilling. Frowning, he looks at the display. There's no caller-ID. He punches the answer button but doesn't speak. When he hears the voice on the other end, his face first turns into a mask of disbelief. Then rage suffuses his features.

' _Hello, Michael. You've been trying so hard to draw my attention, I thought it would be bad manners not to get in touch.'_

Anger courses through him, hot and fierce, paralyzing his vocal cords. The voice at the other end is silent for a moment, then starts chuckling softly, a steely undertone causing chills to suddenly run over his back.

' _You really thought I wouldn't figure it out? C'me on, Michael. You should know better. You should know_ _ **me**_ _better.'_

He finally manages to regain control over his voice, almost stuttering with rage. "I'm gonna get you, you sonofabitch!" The voice at the other end is silent again, then comes back, all traces of humor gone.

' _Now see, that's where you're wrong, Michael. You, my friend, have made a fatal error in judgment. And that's going to cost you. So no, Michael, you're not going to 'get me' as you so eloquently put. I'm going to get you, my friend.'_

The voice now sounds completely menacing, and he can hear the conviction, the unveiled threat to his life in the words. He remains silent, hot tears of anger falling from his eyes.

' _Oh, and Michael? Those three locks aren't going to keep me out, you know.'_

Danny hangs up.


	5. Timely signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - This chapter contains graphic references to the abuse and murder of young children; please continue at your own discretion, or stop reading.
> 
> Danny Williams appears to have a dark side to him that he keeps hidden from those around him.

* * *

“Show me a man with a tattoo,

and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.”

\- Jack London -

* * *

Detective ´Eleu Hekekia from the Honolulu Police Department frowns at the message in his Inbox. It is from Joyce Masters, a nurse at Queen's Medical, announcing she'll be sending some detailed photographs of some physical characteristics of the John Doe they have at the ICU. However, even though the message is dated the day before, Hekekia can't find any messages including attachments. No photographs.

He sits back, tapping a pencil on his desk. The craziness of these past few hot days, swamping HPD with cases ranging from spousal abuse to road rage, seems to have abated somewhat; he's got some spare time on his hands. Coming to a decision he shuts down his computer, grabs his gun from the top drawer, then gets up.

"Where you off to, brah?"

Hekekia glances up at his partner, smiling at the always present inquisitive look in the clear green eyes. "You're too _niele_ , nosy for your own good, _wahine_ ; not even giving me a chance to tell you. Typically female." He grins at the semi-shocked look on her face; this macho-feminist battle - which is far from the way they truly consider the other sex - has been their playground for as long as they have been partners.

"C'mon, Mere. If I was up to no good, would I leave you out?" Hekekia cocks his eyebrow at the woman, watches her sigh and recline in her chair while she waves a hand at him.

"OK, 'Eleu, shoo then. Tell me where you're going first, though, before you stick me with your unwanted paper work." Hekekia explains about the missing message from Joyce Masters, sees a flash of recognition on Mere's face as she remembers the John Doe case.

"Ah right, that poor guy beaten within an inch of his life. Well, hopefully they've found some new details we can work with, huh. You better get going then."

Flashing him a wink, Mere dismisses him with another wave of her hand.

* * *

"I managed to contact Rachel in England." Lou walks up to Chin and Kono, holding up a phone. "I used the information from Danny's cell. She said they arrived in good order but Grace was still exhausted from the flight, as well as very anxious about Danny."

Chin nods. "It's about 18 hours travel I think, that would do anybody in. Did Rachel say anything about what Danny told her?"

Lou shakes his head. "No. She actually asked _me_ if I knew what was going on. All Danny told her was that there was somebody after him, and that he was the reason Steve was, well ... murdered. He told her he was afraid Grace would be the next target." Chin remains silent, looking down, seemingly contemplating the facts.

"So does Rachel know where Danny is?" Kono's face displays a half-hopeful look, even though she already expects Lou's denial when it comes. They have nothing to go on, no clue as to where their friend has gone, except the old IA report on the investigation launched against Danny years ago.

Chin pushes himself up straight against the edge of the computer table, shoulder tense with exhaustion and frustration. He sighs. "Well, the one thing we can say for certain is that whoever is behind this, isn't on the island."

Lou throws him a quizzical look, and Chin continues. "What I mean is that, even though the person or persons who killed Steve are probably here, they aren't the brains behind all this. And we knew that already from the phone conversation on the video, just before ..." He doesn't need to finish; they know exactly which moment on the tape he's talking about.

Kono swallows back the large lump which has appeared at the memory, then looks at Lou, then back at Chin. "Why ... how would you know that, cuz?" She watches Chin tap a few keys on the PC table, then looks up as he swipes what looks to be a flight manifest to one of the hanging screens.

"Because I just found Danny's name on a passenger list for an outgoing flight to Newark. I think he's gone after Steve's killer."

* * *

The surveillance set-up is simple but effective; a telescope placed in front of the window facing Michael's apartment across the street. When Danny walks into the sparsely furnished living room, Levi is already busy monitoring any activity.

"Hey Danny." Levi's smiles at him, his brown eyes invoking a quick but painful memory of his sister Grace, Danny's old partner, dead these fourteen years now. "There's fresh brew in the kitchen, help yourself." Scratching his head, Danny shuffles towards the kitchen counter, cracking a wide yawn as he pours himself a mug of caffeine. "You were dead to the world when I got here, man. Couldn't even wake you."

"Didn't sleep too well these past few days" Danny grunts just before taking a sip of the scalding liquid.

Levi stares at him, then nods, not needing any further elaboration. He understands the pain Danny is going through, the helpless rage he must be feeling. After all, Danny's partner got _murdered_ , and as far as Levi knows, this is the third time that happened. First Jake, then Levi's own sister Grace ... and now Five-0's Steve McGarrett. Levi's heart aches for his old friend.

"I really appreciate your help in all this." Danny is leaning against the counter, staring at Levi over the rim of his mug. He watches with half lidded, guarded eyes as Levi shrugs, as if to to say that, hey, that's what friends are for. "You didn't have to do this, especially because, well ... because I don't know how this will end." Danny's voice is devoid of emotions.

However, Levi knows Danny well, which is why he's able to catch the sudden, short flash of viciousness in his eyes that otherwise would have gone unnoticed. A look which hints at a side of Danny that only a handful of people are aware of; a streak of cold ruthlessness that he usually keeps hidden deep beneath his habitual genial hand waving and verboseness.

If Danny is pushed, is _shoved_ over the edge, he is willing _and_ able to check his normal compassion for his fellow human beings at the door. And when he does, Levi knows Danny to be far more dangerous than anyone will give him credit for, is capable of overstepping a boundary which normally is ingrained into his very fabric. Grace was the one who told him all about it.

_The story about Danny's ruthlessness had come out one night when she arrived at Levi's door at two in the morning, looking completely drained. After silently imbibing numerous beers and then several tumblers of whiskey, Levi all the while asking, almost begging her to tell him what was wrong, Grace had monotonously launched into a story which caused goose bumps to break out all over his body._

_She and Danny had been working a case, a gruesome case which involved small children and one man's obsession to inflict as much pain and damage before ..._

_It had left their cop's hearts shredded and their tempers frayed as body after tiny body was unearthed from a shallow grave, and they had spent long days and even longer nights going over each little detail in order to catch this freak and put an end to the horror. When yet another child went missing, they finally caught a break and eventually managed to track him down to the basement of an old, dilapidated brownstone._

_The sight which greeted them, the two undressed bodies, one of which being far too small and bloodied for even the tiniest glimmer of hope of a positive outcome, had Grace turning around and puking all over the basement floor. It was the icy hiss, the cold 'I'm going to fucking end this right here and now!' coming out of Danny's mouth, the infliction in his voice a sound that Grace couldn't even normally place in the same universe with the partner she thought she knew so well, that had her spinning around yet again._

_Before she could utter a word, before the cold, murderous look in Danny's eyes even managed to fully register, she had watched his shoulder muscles bulge underneath his button-down shirt as he leapt and grabbed hold of the stunned man and simply twisted and pulled while ramming his knee between the man's shoulders. It had taken just mere seconds, Grace watching in open mouthed silence as Danny simply stood looking down, for the larger body to stop twitching and remain as still as the second, smaller body._

_When he turned towards Grace, his frigid blue eyes held no trace whatsoever of the partner, the friend Grace had known for so long. No trace of remorse, no sign of even the slightest regret of what he had just done. Danny Williams had murdered a fellow human being and he was perfectly OK with it._

_By the time he steered her outside to the back of the brownstone and gently forced her to sit down in the passenger seat, the killer's glare had disappeared from his eyes, now filled with compassion and concern for her own well-being. "Stay here, I just need to take care of something" he had said, and then had gone back inside the building again._

_Several days later the case was closed, the coroner's official ruling stating the murderer's death was the result of suicide by hanging, resulting in a fracture of the C2 vertebra and subsequent severance of the spinal cord. If the autopsy revealed any bruising in the rough shape of a knee on the man's back, or the imprint of fingers underneath his lower jaw, the report didn't mention it._

_The whole community was simply glad that the reign of terror was over, and the precinct collectively heaved a sigh of relief._

_It had taken two weeks of continuous nightmares, two weeks in which Danny would stare at the deepening bruises underneath her eyes and then look away, the last person on this earth to be able to help her deal with her conflicting emotions, before Grace had ended up on her brother's doorstep._

_Levi knew Danny, despite himself working at another precinct; had met him plenty of times at Grace's house, had shared beers and stories with him during the numerous family gatherings Grace had dragged her partner to, even after Danny got married to Rachel, and Levi considered Danny Williams to be a warm, generous and caring human being._

_Grace's account of what happened in the brownstone basement had first elicited a somewhat shocked short bark of laughter, Levi shaking his head and looking away from his obviously deluded sister. However, when she repeated the details, tears glistening in her eyes because "How the hell can I ever trust Danny again, Levi; how can I trust my own **partner** after this happened?!", he had believed her._

_And when Grace herself was murdered not four months later, Levi suspected that Danny's official statement of the events surrounding his partner's death, in particular the facts concerning the demise of the three drug dealers, the meat cleaver 'accidentally' ending up in the chest of one of the men, might not have been completely truthful._

_Might, in fact, be missing some important details._

_As Levi met Danny's eyes over Grace's coffin, just as it was lowered into the ground, he had seen a quick glimpse of what his sister had tried telling him, a hint of pure malice in those normally friendly and gentle blue eyes as he stood by as his partner disappeared beneath the soil. And Levi's suspicion had been confirmed right then and there._

_He had given Danny a slight nod then, seen the momentary look of surprise on the other detective's face as he grasped its meaning, then received a short nod in return. It was never mentioned during all the subsequent years the men had stayed in touch, but Levi had never forgotten that Danny Williams was a man who, on occasion, was able and willing to meet out his own type of justice._

_And Levi was OK with that._

So when Danny calls Levi, his voice rough, nearly breaking as he fills him in on the details of the video he received, telling him how his Five-0 partner, his _friend_ has been murdered by someone from his past, asking Levi's help in bringing the bastard down, it takes Levi less than a second to say "yes".

He also knows, with absolute certainty, that he would not like to be on the receiving end of whatever Danny has in mind.

* * *

´Eleu Hekekia is in luck; even though her shift has ended fifteen minutes ago, nurse Joyce Masters is still at the ICU, filing away things behind the computer at the nurses' station. When he explains why he's there, a stunned look appears on her face.

"Oh darn, I had completely forgotten about those pictures!" She quickly calls up the John Doe's medical file, scrolling down towards the Additional Details section. Then she frowns. "That's weird; I know I uploaded the pictures already, but the files seem to be missing." She scrolls around a bit more but doesn't find anything. The looks she sends Hekekia is one of both embarrassment and apology. "Looks like all the pictures are gone, Detective. I'm so sorry."

Hekekia smiles at her. "Don't worry. I can take the pictures again with my own cell phone, if that is OK with you. Can you take me to see the John Doe?"

Relieved, Joyce smiles back at him. "Sure, Detective; no problem at all. Right this way, please." She leads the way into one of the ICU cubicles, and Hekekia feels his breath catch in his throat as he sees the motionless man in the bed. _'Jesus, he looks like shit!´_ he thinks, as he takes in the swollen face and all the machines the guy is hooked up to.

"Here Detective; this is what we wanted to send pictures of." Joyce has moved near the bed and points towards the patient's right shoulder. As Hekekia approaches, he frowns. Visible between the many colored bruises are distinct lines, hinting at images. "A tattoo?" he asks, looking at the nurse standing next to him. She nods, and he bends over even further, gazing at the patterns on the man's shoulder.

Then he feels a rush of recognition; he's seen that tattoo before!


	6. Evidence to the contrary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny gets some information, and it looks as if the identity of the mysterious John Doe at Queen's Medical has finally been discovered.  
> Although ...

* * *

"A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence."

\- David Hume -

* * *

"So what's your plan, if I may ask?" Levi takes a swig of the lukewarm warm coffee, grimaces and puts down the mug. Turning around, he looks at the man standing glued to the telescope. Danny has been very quiet, as if he uses all his energy to spin the gears of his mind, instead of the muscles of his mouth.

"Danny?"

Standing up, Danny stretches, popping his lower back. "Would you believe me if I told you I actually don't _have_ a plan?" He throws another look out the window, then walks towards the dinghy couch and sits down. "All I know is that I need to stop Michael before, you know ..." He waves a hand through the air, glancing at Levi with an almost anguished look on his face.

Yeah, Levi knows what he means. Stop Michael from killing somebody else, stop him before he attacks another person close to Danny. "Did you think he would do this? I mean, it's been, what, ten, twelve years?" Levi watches Danny shake his head.

"No. In all honesty, I thought he would leave things alone. Thought he had, you know ... moved on." And Danny had truly believed that, had never expected this event from his past to come and haunt him in the present. Had never expected Steve, his partner, his _friend_ to pay the price for that total cluster-fuck of years gone by.

Levi nods, understanding. "Guess the guy bears a real grudge."

Danny snorts. "This isn't 'bearing a grudge', Levi. Bearing a grudge makes you key the car of the asshole who rear-ended you in a traffic jam. This," he waves at the window, "this particular situation is just fucking _insane_!" An intense look ripples over Danny's face, causing his eyes to suddenly turn several shades darker than their normal light blue. Levi barely suppresses the shudder that runs through him; he thinks Danny knows exactly what level of insanity he's talking about.

"But why now, Danny? Why come after you, come after your friends after all this time?"

Looking up at Levi, Danny frowns. "I don't know. It's a question I've been asking myself ever since finding out that Michael was behind Steve's ..." He stops, hangs down his head, unable to say the words. Shaking his head, he gets up from the couch and moves back to the telescope.

"I'm planning to find out, though. Before I put an end to this."

* * *

He's just about to slip into the ICU cubicle to visit the John Doe, to pay his last respects as it were, when he nearly bumps into two people coming out. The female nurse throws him a friendly look as she asks him if she can help him with something, but the man standing next to her - and _fuck_ his luck! - is somebody he knows.

Fortunately, it seems the man's memory is not as good as his own. Quickly gathering his wits, he looks at the number of the cubicle, then magically conjures a surprised look on his face. "Oh, shoot ... I guess I got the wrong room." He throws the nurse the bedazzling smile he knows works well, and watches her immediate response. "My bad. Sorry for disturbing you."

He jacks up his smile's radiance a few notches, sees the almost automatic answering smile on the nurse's face. The cop standing next to her though - oops, sorry; _Detective_ , if you please - is as straight as they come and therefor not easily swayed by both his charm and good looks, and for a moment he thinks he's been made. A little frown appears on the HPD detective's face, then just as quickly disappears again, making room for a slightly quizzical look.

"Visiting somebody?"

He nods, taking care to steady his nerves. "Yeah, my brother. He was in a hunting accident yesterday, so I came in to see how he's doing." The nurse is still smiling when she points to the nursing station.

"Why don't you go over there and ask which room your brother is in? I'm sure they'll be able to help you."

Nodding, he half turns, then throws the couple another smile. "Will do. Thanks." He winks at the nurse, nods at the cop and heads over to the nursing station. When he's nearly there, he cautiously glances over his shoulder; the two people have disappeared around the corner, and he quickly opens the door to the stairwell, slipping through. The man in the ICU cubicle will have to wait.

It's not like he's going anywhere soon.

* * *

Hekekia stops, removing the hand with which he has steered Joyce Masters around the corner. "Sorry about that, but I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible." Joyce throws him a surprised look.

"Something wrong, Detective?"

He nods. "Yeah. That guy back there? That's Kimo Jones, a well-known Jack-of-all-Trades in the criminal world." He rubs a finger between his eyes, trying to keep a budding headache at bay. "I arrested him several years ago for suspected gun trafficking. Kimo basically is one of the first ports of call for a wide variety of things, ranging from illegal guns and very young prostitutes to new identities and illegal betting."

Joyce lifts an eyebrow. "Sounds like the man has quite an enterprise. However, in my experience even criminals have siblings, and they do come over and visit them." Hekekia nods, then frowns as the headache decides to make a full front and center. Tension, he knows, which is the result of his sudden realization that he may have discovered something which Five-0 will be anxious to know. As a matter of fact, he was planning on calling them as soon as he left the ICU, but bumping into Jones threw a spanner in the works. He sighs, then pats Joyce on the shoulder.

"You're right, of course. However, I know for a fact Kimo Jones doesn't _have_ a brother."

* * *

His cell phone shrills just as he's about to leave the apartment in order to catch a breath a fresh air so he can start revising his plans. Plans which Danny _fucking_ Williams has not only caught onto, but is threatening to completely disrupt.

Looking at the display, he sighs in relief at the familiar number, then presses the Answer button. As usual, he remains silent until the man on the other end starts to talk.

"It's me. I ehm, I was planning on paying our _friend_ a visit in hospital today, but when I got there he had visitors."

His years of being a cop have instilled a silent alarm which goes off whenever somebody lies or - like now - omits part of the truth. "Visitors?" The sharp tone of his voice leaves nothing to the imagination, and the other man catches on quickly, knowing he'd better tell the whole story.

"Yeah, ehm ... one of them was a cop. An HPD detective, to be more precisely."

_Shit!_

"What happened?"

The other man utters a short cough, then continues. "Nothing. I gave them a song and dance about visiting my brother, that I'd made a mistake with the room numbers. There was no trouble."

He sighs. "Well, there better _not_ be, as I have plenty of trouble to handle here." He thinks back to the conversation he had with Danny Williams, remembers his menacing tone when he promised he would 'get him'. An involuntary chill runs down his spine, and for a moment he grits his teeth, _furious_ at the audacity of the man, the way in which he has seemingly turned the table on him.

"What do you want me to do now?"

The voice of the other man hauls him back to the Here & Now, forcing him to focus. "What I want you to do? I expect you to honor your part of our deal."

He swallows bitterly at the way things have started to run out of control. However, there's no way he's going to back down, even though Danny Williams is hot on his heels. He'll still make the fucker pay!

"Just kill McGarrett."

* * *

Danny looks up as Levi comes walking into the apartment; he's been trawling the Internet, searching for clues as to why Michael has suddenly become hell bent on coming after him. Coming after his loved ones. Levi, meanwhile, has gone back to the precinct he works for, trying to find clues in the archive's files. He's wearing a worried look as he closes the door behind him.

"I take it you found something then?" Danny sits back in anticipation, not sure whether or not he'll like the information Levi has brought with him in the manila envelop tucked under his arm. He watches as Levi drops the envelope on the coffee table, then reaches out a hesitant hand.

"Yeah, I found something alright."

Danny's hand freezes at Levi's tone. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" He watches Levi's non-committal shrug, then sits back again, waiting for the other man to fill him in on the details.

"Over the last twelve years, Michael filed a total of _TWENTY_ petitions with IA to re-open the case. They were all denied based on 'lack of evidence'; the last denial is dated four weeks ago." Levi scrutinizes Danny's face in order to judge his reaction. He sees a scala of emotions flow over Danny's features, and he can guess how painful it must be for him to hear this. The requests were denied due to _lack of evidence_ , not because they were deemed 'without sound grounds'.

Levi leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "What's more: his mother passed away just over three years ago, and ever since then Michael's _father_ has co-signed the petitions. Looks like the mother was the one holding them back in this. I guess she believed your side of the story."

The sound coming from Danny's mouth is a cross between a bark of laughter and a moan of pain. "Believed? Nobody _believed_ my story, Levi! They merely accepted it because they couldn't nail the thing on me!" He runs a shaking hand through his hair, bowing his head, trying to keep the rush of memories at bay. When he looks up again, he has steeled himself. As his hand goes to the manila envelop, he shoots a glance at Levi.

"OK, what else did you find?"

* * *

The warm air when he steps outside the hospital hits 'Eleu Hekekia like a blast from a shotgun, and he squints his eyes at the flash of pain searing through his head. Of all the times to get a headache, the current one even bordering on a migraine, this particular moment is not very opportune. He takes a small bottle out of his shirt pocket and dry-swallows two capsules, hoping they will provide relief.

When he sits down in his car, he takes out his cell phone, suppressing a feeling of excitement as he shifts through the stored images until he hits the ones he has made up at the ICU. Looking closely at one of the pictures, he is able to make out some details of the tattoo on the right shoulder of the John Doe; it looks like the head of a safety pin. Another picture shows a detail of the same shoulder, but a little higher up. It's part of an eye.

Shaking his head, almost unable to believe what he sees, he scrolls to another image, this one taken of the left shoulder. There, between the fading bruises, up high on the shoulder, he is able to make out a figure's head with what looks like a flame coming out of the top.

Sitting back, his mind a-whirl, he thinks back to the first time he has seen those particular tattoos, remembers how impressed he was with both the art work and the implied meaning of them. Those were not the kind of cheap imagery one decided on taking after a long night out of hitting the bars. Something which told him a lot about the character of the man wearing them.

Feeling unnerved both by the tattoos and the fact that he has bumped into Kimo Jones, a man not only known for supplying goods but with the reputation of not shirking from doing another man's dirty work, just as he was about to enter the man still registered as a John Doe in the ICU cubicle, realizing how massively important all this information is to Five-0, he decides to forgo calling them.

Instead, he'll go over and tell them in person.

* * *

"Guys, come and take a look at this." Chin waves a hand at Lou and Kono, sitting at the conference table. They're sorting through the papers sent to them from the mainland, files which they hope will shed some light on the person who is out gunning for Danny. Kono comes to lean against Chin's side while Lou stands next to him.

"What did you find, Chin?" Lou looks over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it is his colleague finds so interesting. Chin taps on the screen, then moves an enlarged portion of the open file to one of the smaller screens.

"Here, take a look at this. Somebody has been trying to get IA to reopen the case on Jacob Miller for the past ten years or so." He points at a series of entries, the first one dating back to less than a month after Miller's death, the last one just under two months ago. "Unfortunately," Chin continues, "the name of the petitioner has been blacked out."

Lou takes a closer look at the file. "Seems that there were actually _two_ petitioners the last few years." He points to the extra line blacked out on the last series of requests. "Any chance of getting the names from IA?"

Chin shakes his head. "I doubt it. If Danny were to ask, they might release them, as he is personally involved. Unfortunately, we're not."

Both men look up as Kono utters a soft expletive, then walks over to the conference table and slams her hand down on it. "This is all _poho_!" She gestures at the files on the table, then points at the screen. "A waste of time, _all_ of it! Nothing is getting us closer to finding out where Danny is, or finding out who is after him, or who killed ..." Abruptly stopping, she sinks down on one of the chairs, tears slowly coursing down her face.

"St ... Steve is _dead_ , and we don't even know w... why, or where his bo ... body is. This all _sucks!_ "

Chin quickly walks up to his younger cousin, wraps his arms around her as she really starts to cry. Lou watches the couple, swallowing the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. He understands the young woman's frustration at not being able to properly deal with the grief they're all feeling.

Steve's dead, Danny's gone, and they don't have a _clue_ as to who or why.

* * *

Whether it's the sudden transition from the air-conditioned hospital out into the heat of the afternoon, or the excitement about his discovery, but the headache 'Eleu Hekekia has been trying to keep at bay decides to become a migraine, painkillers notwithstanding. His vision suddenly starts swimming, which is why he doesn't see the light turning red, or the truck which suddenly swerves into the path of his car.

All he knows is that he suddenly feels as if he's lifted into the air, then tumbling over and over, breath momentarily cut off by the activated airbag pushed against his face. When the movement stops, there are several seconds of absolute, almost peaceful quiet.

The next moment his head feels like it's exploding, and for just an instant the world becomes a monochrome gray before he blacks out.


End file.
